We collected fireflies.
We put them in a jar, covered it with waxed paper dotted with air holes and brought it into our room to place on the nightstand. We were exhausted and it was hot, despite the mini fan six inches from our beds. But we were also very excited. Because the next day we were going to the "big beach". The "real beach".
The ocean.
It seemed so, so far away and was always a really big deal to go. We went maybe two or three times a year. It doesn't feel so far anymore, but I still love it just as much. It still feels just as special every time. And I still feel just as small when I stand in the sand and stare out across the massive stretch of current to where the sky meets the water and the earth appears to end.
The sky is different in the summer. Even the clouds are nicer. Brighter, fluffier, whiter. I remember laying on my back just staring at the massive cottony formations. I still catch myself being struck by them at times, looking out a car window or just sitting outside with a book. At night, we would often lay a blanket in the grass. In my memory there were never clouds at night. Just a million stars that shined bright due to being in a town with very little light pollution. We would point out any constellations we knew and try to find satellites. Time stood still and it was just us and the never-ending ceiling of lights. I look forward to living under a sky like that again someday.
My saddest memory will always be that day one year ago. I'll never forget the loss I felt. How I felt pain in every cell of my body and yet completely numb at the same time. The guilt, the emptiness, the regret. The heaviness I felt inside and how dark it seemed to get.
It was summer again, but the sun was dull and the ocean flat. I couldn't see the stars though the thick layer of grief that blanketed everything around me.
And then one night the fireflies doubled, tripled. It looked like the trees were sparkling. It was like a message. Although I still dragged that heavy weight everywhere I went, I knew what I needed to do. And so I made a promise to him that I would make my life the best I could, live it for both of us. Treat people well, don't take anything for granted, and appreciate the little things.
Like when we were kids, in the summertime.
What is a year anyway? It's just time. Some days it feels like longer. Some days it feels like yesterday. Time only helps so much, it never deletes things or makes promises that they won't hit you at random and hurt like hell. Because they will. What time does is smooth the edges a bit and help you see things in a softer, more positive light. Like the sunshine on the dirty pond. Like all those summer memories.
I'm even more thankful for those memories now, he's in all of them. He is them.
I saw a firefly for the first time this year last weekend, and it made me smile to know I will be seeing him a lot more now. Because he really is everywhere. He's the quick flash of a firefly, the stars on clear summer nights. He's the waves in the ocean, the slow movement of the clouds.
He's the morning sunlight on all the world's imperfections.
